School of Movement Medicine - Mindfulness in Motion

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Issue: April 2011
Poems from the Poetry of Presence

Poems from Poetry of Presence

I am held, nourished
rooted in my lifes rich soil
everything I need
The wind blows through me
open to sky, sun and rain,
my branches blossom
Soft love light shines from
my healing beating brave heart
here I am, you are


Poetry of Presence

I take the risk of turning up
time and time again.
This past year
life has battered me,
brought me slowly to my knees
at times apparently defeating me.
But something deep inside is thriving.
Like weeds growing through concrete,
something in me will not be conquered,
will not succumb to drudgery,
will not accept a thin existence.
I will keep seeking beautiful moments
I will keep believing in the process;
at times it is all I have left.
I will dare to show up
I will dare to use my pain creatively
I will dance and write and sing and paint
and share
I will defy whatever force it is
that wants me silent.
I will come to see my self as you do
I will remember who I am
and it will be glorious
ES Feb 2011

Poetry of Presence II
We have met in the field beyond right thinking and wrong thinking
Thank you for taking me there
We have danced amongst sweet scented flowers
and lay in the long grass
and opened our hearts
and put words to what we already knew
I have taken you to swim in clear waters
and we have seen the possibility of diving deep
With hot sun beating down
we have lain on warm rocks
And basked in love
for each other
and for ourselves
All that we have touched is real
and will endure
You have shown me how glorious I can be
and I have seen the wonderous beauty of you
I am full of gratitude
And surrender to what will be
All is unfolding as it should
my love
and I hold you close as we journey on
Do not doubt I am standing strong beside you
ES Mar 2011

My roots are not of this place,
They slip out of space and time,
Reaching deeply into the source of all.
My arms, my thoughts, my feelings reach up and out,
Drawing deeply from the ground within me,
Creating worlds, universes, heavens of infinite experience.
Once I looked away, and on my own I created
The shadow of hell. Now I dance to call back
A wholeness that was never lost, just forgotten for a moment.
John Stewart

`Heart speak to me, whisper the story hidden in your waiting Pandora, a secret breath of you for me`
Earth matters are wet to soak my bones
sway and sweat of crushed particles
heavy flat,
the soft way down
the dark crumbling
deep under deep
underland of ancient forms
ant or firefly rests to a birthing
a new day shine.
A ready hand grasping the unknown
waits high and low
in the star and in the tiny toe
in the splash of a wave or a
blink of a lions eye,
see see, me me
see see, you you
see see, all all.
Here for this moment
here is the bud, the cracking, the searching
again again it calls
molten breath of the start
the end.
In the mirror, the dark space in the skull,
calls the trance, a heartbeat open to the wide land.
A tiny hair shakes to your tune
a finger tip senses a flight of feathers
a brush of your past.
This line of love, twists and spins
there is no rush to get anywhere at all.
Painted patterns fall from shedding skins
to dust, grains of the one substance.
Seeds of softness clears the sharp edges of pain,
echoes of a fragile state of gushed emotions.
Does your head and neck squiver and stretch?
Could it be the silver streak, the sap
sparks around and under bark, wraps the force,
brings to life a story
to sing a song remembered today.
Vibe, viber, viper ripple teases
not resting in this hour, it is a snakes fortune,
the quick the quickening time rocks again.
Gasping sighs can holler loud the pain
ignorance slaps my back and I writhe
it stabs the twig to life.
Shake the rattle and bow, I hear the spinning tide in my skin, it runs over sands, dives in the salt wash.
Waves can crush a dream
waves can shift the sludge
waves can clean the heart
rest now rest, to listen, where is the silence found?
So I will dream you to me
in the hour
in the minute
in the second
of your ripening.
You are my seed, my trigger to fire my DNA
spark of the dance of the green flash
strip the darkened cover
strip the dead dust
smile me a river of the turning
the centrifugal flow of blood
no words, just the feeling
the tendrils of love are off the page
away into the air.

Let tribal dance come
Let tribal dance come,
Let physical feeling come,
Let artless pain come
Let tight resistance go,
Let rigid tension go,
Let exhausting fear go
Let slippery tears fall,
Let cunning veils fall,
Let broken walls fall
Let giving breath come,
Let golden light come,
Let me come. Let me
Be me.

Sense, my darling
You are supported like a green spring shoot,
Rooted and growing,
Secure and vital
Allow, my darling
Your soul to be lifted,
Your arms to reach skyward,
Bud open like petals
Receive, my darling
Rest into your dance,
Blow cobwebs away,
Let your heart shine open.
Feel, my darling
the rhythm of a voice in your being,
A flutter of airy wings on your breath and
A glitter of golden heart beats.

Memories of Cave
For an hour I lay on rocks in the cave
Sounds or rushing water
Mixed with laughter and play
At one with the earth
The moss inside my bones.
Out in the world
New and vulnerable like fresh antlers.
In the shimmering silence
Caressed by gentle rain
Bathing the land in golden light.
Thunder ricochets round the ancient hills
In the distance a plume of smoke
The sound of a gentle drum
Calling me home.
The rumbling holds no judgement.
Duncan Weldrake, March 2011

Roots are everywhere, every when
not just in the feet…
You cannot be other than rooted -
all you can do is let your attention wander from the fact
Forget about everything you thought you knew about roots;
just let them show themselves to you…
Roots are in blood,
in sinew,
in bone,
in muscle.
Every living microbe conveys your rootedness.
Returning to the ground
I re-establish lost connection with
the source of nourishment
Sinuous turnings,
eminently flexible and resilient…
Roots to all dimensions through this body…

Conduit of goodness,
Channel of light,
Funnel of light.
Roots in the air.
Light-filled roots.
Scattered gold-dust on moth wing.
This is a Temple I know and love.

Everything here, now, all connected
all cooking with gas
More and more of me
showing up to participate
All rhythms, all colours, all flavours
all possibilities
in this marvellous recipe
for participation
Caroline Sherwood

The turning world tells us
Of the pleasures
Of gravity, the tilts
Into the vast
Dark, the tilts
Into the vast
Light: these lubricious
Sways, turning
Into life

The fingers that burst
Into leaf
Have their tendinous roots
Submerged in the shoulders, are
Threaded deep in
The spine: the shapes
That sculpt the air
Remember the wet mulch of the roots,
The clay that
Dreams are made of
Peter Finch

Poetry of Presence Incantation
Anchoring me in my ground my roots reach for nutrients and water to feed my heart and mind.
My branches stretch out towards the sun, gathering the light and providing a place for boys to play.
My trunk grows with food from below and above – expanding with joy and grief.
Pete Harmsworth

My Allotment
Digging hard as spring approaches
I’m looking for docks and couch
Taking out the stones
Straightening the paths
Hoeing the garlic and onions
Sewing carrots in tubes
Planting gooseberries and currants
My body aches
So much still to do
Will there be time?
Maybe I have to wait till next year
Enjoy what is
Add honey to rhubarb
And enjoy the sweetness of spring
Pete Harmsworth

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The views expressed here do not necessarily represent the views of the School of Movement Medicine. Roland Wilkinson, Nappers Crossing, Staverton, Devon TQ9 6PD, UK Tel & Fax +44 (0)1803 762255 http://www.