Heart Rendering


Aztec Painted Birds

Eres el pájaro pintado
Que pulpita en mi corazón
Con una promesa bendita
De la dulce migración natal

You are the precious painted bird
Who flits and flutters in my heart
A pulsating promise of the
Sweet migration home

 

Kore of the Acropolis

 

The Eleusinian Mysteries are related to a myth concerning Demeter, the goddess of agriculture and fertility as recounted in one of the Homeric Hymns (c. 650 B.C.). According to the hymn, Demeter's daughter Persephone (also referred to as Kore , or Core, "maiden") was gathering flowers with friends, when she was seized by Hades, the god of death and the underworld. He took her to his underworld kingdom. Distraught, Demeter searched high and low for her daughter. Because of her distress, and in an effort to coerce Zeus to allow the return of her daughter, she caused a terrible drought in which the people suffered and starved. This would have deprived the gods of sacrifice and worship. As a result, Zeus relented and allowed Persephone to return to her mother.

According to the myth, during her search Demeter traveled long distances and had many minor adventures along the way. In one she taught the secrets of agriculture to Triptolemus. Finally, by consulting Zeus, Demeter reunites with her daughter and the earth returns to its former verdure and prosperity: the first autumn. (For more information on this story, see Demeter.)  from Wikipedia Mythology of Demeter and Persephone

 

Read More

Read Betrayal


The root of the word betrayal is from the Latin to lead across (OF be + trair fr. L. tradere fr. trans across + ducere to lead). To betray or be betrayed is part of every act that is not a direct acceptance of another.
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Read Thy Wish is my Command

The pasture smells sweet of grass; the sun gently announces its presence. Glistening porcelain-white, a hop, step and a jump away, looms a bath tub, edges like the curled lip of a smile. No cows drinking today. Goody! I'm invited for a bath.
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Read Separation from the Mother

Your beckon swirls, orangey on black, millions of tiny copper BB’s, firefly tails on fire in the dark. You welcome me return; like falling asleep, you sweetly draw me in. You knew me first and never forget. You beyond name--may I call you Great Mother?
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Read In the Know

In the last days we knew Grandpa was failing. He was born into a French Catholic family although he did not practice his faith. So Dad called a Catholic priest in the area and asked him to come over and talk to Grandpa.
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Read Culture Shock

He wanted me to teach him English. “Of course, León,” I said, “tomorrow at eight o’clock." After all, I mused, that’s what I’m here for—to each anyone who wants to learn, young or old, tall or short, skinny or fat. And it isn’t my fault León is a beautiful man.
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Read
Brendan and the Guinea Turd

Marianne and I are very good friends. I suppose that’s why she asked me to come over and talk to her son, Brendan. She said she was having some problems, but didn't elaborate.
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Read
My Grandpa

My Grandpa Dew hops up the steps. He wears a huge black coat with enormous buttons like I imagine a Russian wears on a cold night. He has a French tam slanted to one side of his head, an energetic reminder of the Bagur family who settled in New Orleans in the late 1800's and founded the reknown Aunt Sally's Candy Shop.
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Read
Carl's Room

As I reach the top of the stairs, I can see into the room. The bed is unmade. A multi-colored quilt with shades of green dominating the design is crumpled at the foot of the bed. A wrinkled top sheet hangs lifelessly over the side of the bed partially covering a worn leather moccasin lying on the gray carpet. A piece of chewing gum is stuck on one of the maple-finished bed posts.
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Read Rieber Plays Keyboard


Rieber Hovde's piano playing is legendary at the Daily Planet. The 65-year-old Fresnan has been performing there five nights a week for the past twelve years. You'll often catch him waving to customers as they enter and leave the restaurant, some of whom stop to talk to the vibrant, friendly man. It's clear he's admired not just for his incredible piano playing, but for the person he is.
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OTHER STORIES
 
How Ridicule Comes About
A Dream Dramatization
 
Laughter Heals All Wounds
Ultimate Healing
 
Matrioshka Doll
Brain Hypothetical
Megastructure
 
How God Taught Yoga
to the Sun

Sri Aurobindo's Savitri
 
Poet's Corner
Assorted poems
 
Chanted Forest of AUM
Ode to Milarepa
 
Divine Mother Ballad 
Verdant Isle
 
Pyramid of Fire
Aztec Codex



 

 

Heart Rendering

 

Ode to

 

Alice Herz-Sommer

Czech pianist,
music teacher and survivor
of the Theresienstadt
concentration camp

 

Book of Life

Voice permeates
inspires

Numb space
softens

Tears drop
moisten

Heart renders
great bliss

What else?
No  thing...

 

A Mother's Cough
(The Heart's Sound)

I hear my mother cough,
Chord deep within so soft
Alerts me to life's fragile gift
Of love set free toward heav'n to drift
Wafts me sweetly to God's rest
On cushion of her nectared breast

What hath God wrought the world around
With such sacred unstruck sound?

 

 

On Nature: A Mother's Tears

Gentle pitter, gentle pat
Down the 'pider pout
Liquid pendants trickle splash
Stream profusefrom Mother's lash.

Gentle pitter, gentle pat
Down the 'pider pout
Washing, rinsing, downward rush,
Streak afresh her vibrant blush.

Gentle pitter, gentle pat
Rat-ta-tat-tat-ping-plop
Baby pores nudged open burst
Quench the earth's inherent thirst.

Gentle pitter, gentle pat
Rat-ta-tat-tat-ping-plop
Grey dawn hints a lyrical hue
Inspired hymn portends anew

Gentle pitter, gentle pat
Rat-ta-tat-tat-ping-plop
Awakened cock strikes mighty chord
Stretching heralds good news of Lord

Gentle pitter, gentle pat
Down the 'pider pout
Teardrops discrete voice solo prayer
Welcoming warmth into her lair

Gentle pitter, gentle pat
Up comes poppa sun
Resplendent glory reigns supreme
Long awaited mother's dream

Gentle chirping, gentle warbling
At zenith poppa sun
Fragrant 'falfa, corn knee high
Pouty 'pider spins to dry

 

 

The Mother

She awakens dawn
consciousness trussed in
dream fading paradise lost
in great lament

“Are you Lama Golden Light?“

Space wobbles gently the
silent muse, the query
rendering mellow heart
transparent

Compassionate singularity
drops to AUM pure passion
intense still warm
rounds silence

“Golden Light, are you Lama?“

No!  Adamantine.she manifests
“Does not the sunrise
shower all? Enough
be it for Me"

The Eye plummets screeching
spinning dive to birth
Voice echoes warbles
"Who's your Mother now?"

She first in all ways
heart at rest
earth spins head to foot
free fall to blue
butterfly save





Tibetan  Mother

She welcomes all, wrinkled
skin, tongue splayed, atmospheric
shock to Core touching dune
spot unequaled one…no second,
no support no time no where


 



Mohenjodaro Dancing Girl

 














 

© 2005 Laurel Hovde