The half world of sleep and waking is the best time for my inspiration...
My Mind Is Wrapped In Stillness Deep
========================================
I
My mind is wrapped in stillness deep,
A calmness thats unbroken,
For it is night and it is dark
And there is not one word spoken
Outside in the empty street
That patiently waits the dawn,
And I as I try to sleep,
I turn in bed and yawn.
II
And in this emptyness of mind,
Images and words can play,
As I in slumbers drift in and out
In the early hours of day.
The devil finds work for idle hands,
Often by wise men it's said,
But for an idle mind open to God
Poetry finds it instead.
III
And images from those sleeping hours,
On waking are forgotton,
Though vivid they be at the time,
They are for the back of the mind begotton,
Of worries of our waking time
And of our fears and dreams,
Sometimes pleasent, sometimes nightmares,
Strange to me it seems.
IV
And this stillness is like a blanket,
Neath which all worries cease
And I am occupied by a force,
Of and for peace.
And in a heart thats peaceful,
You shall find only good,
And God at these times in such hearts dwells,
And its only right he should.
V
In our hearts he seeks to dwell
And tries to find out how,
To find a bed in our hearts to rest,
But sometimes we wont allow
The Lord in His goodness to come in,
And will not tell Him why,
And so by the trials of the world we are broken,
For our hearts to God we deny.
VI
After to sleep drifting I wake again,
And in the bed I turn
An image or though from the sleeping time
Vivid in my mind does burn,
Through sloth to get up to write I fail,
So it is written never,
For in the morning its long forgot,
To be remebered never.
VII
And sloth it is a sin they say,
Which I never understood,
For slothful I love to be,
And as I explained sleeping idleness is good!
But sloth makes us fail to work,
And it makes me sleep all night,
And so the wrods God sent through sleep to me,
I never get to write.
VIII
No, God speaks not to me,
I must tell you in a rush,
Im not that crazy, just a poet,
Im not like George Bush!
But God gives us a talent,
And God he gives us time,
And God gives both to me at night,
When my mind can rest and rhyme.
IX
And talent is like the biblical lamp,
To show light it was made,
Why light a lamp to show the light,
Then hide it neath a shade?
Shade is the passing hours
Tween when I think and rise,
And lost through the shade is the light of my words
And this I realise.
X
Though still from bed I refuse to rise,
And my words write for all to see,
And so I waste talent God does give,
And so with Sloth, God can charge me.
To change from Sloth I resolve,
But I know not how,
Before I die I'll find a way,
But be content in sloth for now!
XI
To think of the verses that are lost,
As must happen to toher writers too,
I wonder how to sleep and write they got,
Or of lost work like me did they rue?
The stillness of my sleep held brain,
Matches the stillness of the night,
I must get myself a dictaphone,
To record the thoughts I dont want to rise for to write!
Poetry by Tomas O' Carthaigh
Read 670 times
Written on 2007-01-09 at 20:39
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My Mind Is Wrapped In Stillness Deep
========================================My Mind Is Wrapped In Stillness Deep
========================================
I
My mind is wrapped in stillness deep,
A calmness thats unbroken,
For it is night and it is dark
And there is not one word spoken
Outside in the empty street
That patiently waits the dawn,
And I as I try to sleep,
I turn in bed and yawn.
II
And in this emptyness of mind,
Images and words can play,
As I in slumbers drift in and out
In the early hours of day.
The devil finds work for idle hands,
Often by wise men it's said,
But for an idle mind open to God
Poetry finds it instead.
III
And images from those sleeping hours,
On waking are forgotton,
Though vivid they be at the time,
They are for the back of the mind begotton,
Of worries of our waking time
And of our fears and dreams,
Sometimes pleasent, sometimes nightmares,
Strange to me it seems.
IV
And this stillness is like a blanket,
Neath which all worries cease
And I am occupied by a force,
Of and for peace.
And in a heart thats peaceful,
You shall find only good,
And God at these times in such hearts dwells,
And its only right he should.
V
In our hearts he seeks to dwell
And tries to find out how,
To find a bed in our hearts to rest,
But sometimes we wont allow
The Lord in His goodness to come in,
And will not tell Him why,
And so by the trials of the world we are broken,
For our hearts to God we deny.
VI
After to sleep drifting I wake again,
And in the bed I turn
An image or though from the sleeping time
Vivid in my mind does burn,
Through sloth to get up to write I fail,
So it is written never,
For in the morning its long forgot,
To be remebered never.
VII
And sloth it is a sin they say,
Which I never understood,
For slothful I love to be,
And as I explained sleeping idleness is good!
But sloth makes us fail to work,
And it makes me sleep all night,
And so the wrods God sent through sleep to me,
I never get to write.
VIII
No, God speaks not to me,
I must tell you in a rush,
Im not that crazy, just a poet,
Im not like George Bush!
But God gives us a talent,
And God he gives us time,
And God gives both to me at night,
When my mind can rest and rhyme.
IX
And talent is like the biblical lamp,
To show light it was made,
Why light a lamp to show the light,
Then hide it neath a shade?
Shade is the passing hours
Tween when I think and rise,
And lost through the shade is the light of my words
And this I realise.
X
Though still from bed I refuse to rise,
And my words write for all to see,
And so I waste talent God does give,
And so with Sloth, God can charge me.
To change from Sloth I resolve,
But I know not how,
Before I die I'll find a way,
But be content in sloth for now!
XI
To think of the verses that are lost,
As must happen to toher writers too,
I wonder how to sleep and write they got,
Or of lost work like me did they rue?
The stillness of my sleep held brain,
Matches the stillness of the night,
I must get myself a dictaphone,
To record the thoughts I dont want to rise for to write!
Poetry by Tomas O' Carthaigh
Read 670 times
Written on 2007-01-09 at 20:39
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
