Poems can be a doorway into another world. Each one, a simple arrangement of otherwise ordinary words, that together evoke presence, wonder, possibility. So here is an invitation to pause, let the words wash over you and glimpse the world they offer you…
It’s a growing collection, and we’d love to hear which ones resonate with you and why, and find out about your favourites. Here is an index of our Words of Wonder.
Explore our Poetry Courses:
23 March 2025 – Poetry and Presence for Healing and Renewal
18 April 2025 – Easter Practice Day: Mystical Poetry and Mindfulness for the Love of Nature
19 May 2025 – Mindfulness Meets Mystical Poetry
Our hands imbibe like roots, so I place them on what is beautiful in this world. And I fold them in prayer, and they draw from the heavens light. by St Francis of Assisi interpreted by Daniel Ladinsky A few days ago I was sitting and practicing with a sadness I felt around how…
(to listen to the author speaking this poem, please click here) my brain and heart divorced a decade ago over who was to blame about how big of a mess I have become eventually, they couldn’t be in the same room with each other now my head and heart share custody of me stay with…
If you put your hands on this oar with me, they will never harm another, and they will come to find they hold everything you want. If you put your hands on this oar with me, they would no longer lift anything to your mouth that might wound your precious land – that sacred earth…
Sing, my tongue; sing, my hand; sing, my feet; my knee, my loins, my whole body. Indeed I am His choir. by St. Thomas Aquinas When I rest in body awareness, I allow the field of experience which is my body to speak to me. I hold the intention to listen with gentleness. This…
Forget about ‘transcending’ the body. Love it instead! Let go of the idea of ‘letting go’. Instead, let love go deep into the tender places, the parts that ache. Breathe into your sadness. Let your fear move deep within. Bow to your uncertainty. There is an untouchable place in you that fearlessly allows itself to…
Just sit there right now Don’t do a thing. Just rest. For your separation from God is the hardest work in this world. Let me bring you trays of food and something that you like to drink. You can use my soft words as a cushion for your head. Daniel Ladinsky rendition of Hafiz …
Hope is the belief that one hand reaching to another can eventually touch the moon, allowing the light to guide us through the night. by Nicholas Mazza In this week before COP26 starts, I found myself reflecting on hope, where to find it when it feels illusive, and on the role it plays in…
Balance is noticed most when almost failed of — in an elephant’s delicate wavering on her circus stool, for instance, or that moment when a ladder starts to tip but steadies back. There are, too, its mysterious departures. Hours after the dishes are washed and stacked, a metal bowl clangs to the floor, the weight…
And whom do I call my enemy? An enemy must be worthy of engagement. I turn in the direction of the sun and keep walking. It’s the heart that asks the question, not my furious mind. The heart is the smaller cousin of the sun. It sees and knows everything. It hears the gnashing even…
just to fall back on the grass and be just to fall down on my bed and stay to be just a being on this earth my head objects: there’s a life to be lived a path to be followed a skill to be learned a friend to be seen a change to be made…
The river is famous to the fish. The loud voice is famous to silence, which knew it would inherit the earth before anybody said so. The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds watching him from the birdhouse. The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek. The idea you carry close to…
Release the harsh and pointed inner voice. it’s just a throwback to the past, and holds no truth about this moment. Let go of self-judgment, the old, learned ways of beating yourself up for each imagined inadequacy. Allow the dialogue within the mind to grow friendlier, and quiet. Shift out of inner criticism and life…
Like the little stream Making its way Through the mossy crevices I, too, quietly Turn clear and transparent. by Ryokan, translated by John Stevens Sitting by this little babbling stream in my mind’s eye takes me back to times when I used to cycle out of Glasgow and into the countryside, stopping and sitting…
“Which is bigger,” he asks me, “the ocean or sky,” and I want to tell him the heart, which even today has been practicing vastness, is learning to say yes in new languages, learning to stretch beyond the center, beyond the lips, learning to be more moon and less woman, to reflect light without owning…
I many times thought Peace had come When peace was far away, As wrecked men deem they sight the land When far at sea they stay. And struggle slacker, but to prove, As hopelessly as I, That many the fictitious shores Before the harbour lie. I had a fleeting moment when reflecting on the…
Don’t give me consolation I’m ashamed of my tears Go without looking at me I don’t want you to find me weak Go And give me the opportunity To carve for my cheek A mask of stone To hide and seek. by Dr Parween Pazhwak (Afghanistan) I recognise this feeling of exposed vulnerability and…
Today I’m flying low and I’m not saying a word I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep. The world goes on as it must, the bees in the garden rumbling a little, the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten. And so forth. But I’m taking the day off. Quiet as a feather. I hardly…
What if recognizing diamonds was enough to make them yours and you saw them now everywhere? On the sunlit ocean; in the moonless sky; on winter fields and the tips of branches after the rain; in smiling faces; the brook; the lake; the stream; the kitchen stove; stairs; puddles, ice, clouds; anywhere life glimmers and…
It was as if a window suddenly blew open and the sky outside the mind came flooding in. My childhood shriveled to a close, thread of smoke that rose and touched a cloud — or the cloud’s replica adrift on the slow river of thinking — and disappeared inside it. In that dark water, a…
You keep waiting for something to happen, the thing that lifts you out of yourself, catapults you into doing all the things you’ve put off the great things you’re meant to do in your life, but somehow never quite get to. You keep waiting for the planets to shift the new moon to bring news,…
What powerful seeds lie dormant deep within you, longing to break through the surface and reach their slender stems toward the light? What tender buds are swelling inside you, yearning to unfurl their radiant petals and reveal their hidden beauty? What songs and stories are swirling deep within your breast? What wild and magical dreams…
Sometimes you don’t get to be a Buddha. Sometimes you just have to break. And feel. You have to lose your precious ‘spiritual awakening’. You just have to be a human being, feeling. Sometimes old pain resurfaces. Old fear. Sorrow. Trauma. The searing ache of the abandoned child. The rage of a forgotten universe. And…
My Life Is Not Mine— Give up wanting what other people have. That way you’re safe. “Where, where can I be safe?” you ask. This is not a day for asking questions, Not a day on any calendar. This day is conscious of itself. This day is a lover, bread, and gentleness, More manifest than…
Imagine you wake up with a second chance: The blue jay hawks his pretty wares and the oak still stands, spreading glorious shade. If you don’t look back, the future never happens. How good to rise in sunlight, in the prodigal smell of biscuits – eggs and sausage on the grill. The whole sky is…
Because sometimes we travel heavy and those heady times we can barely imagine the freebody movement of dance. Because sometimes we travel dark and from those hard paths we can’t even conjure an image of sunrise or moonrise or starlight or fire. Because sometimes we travel solo and those lonely times we forget all the…
It only takes a reminder to breathe, a moment to be still, and just like that, something in me settles, softens, makes space for imperfection. The harsh voice of judgment drops to a whisper and I remember again that life isn’t a relay race; that we will all cross the finish line; that waking up…
It is a kind of love, is it not? How the cup holds the tea, How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare, How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes Or toes. How soles of feet know Where they’re supposed to be. I’ve been thinking about the patience Of ordinary things, how clothes Wait respectfully…
Enough. These few words are enough. If not these words, this breath. If not this breath, this sitting here. This opening to the life we have refused again and again until now. Until now. by David Whyte A few simple words from the prolific poet David Whyte, often shared on the world wide web.…
There is a brokenness out of which comes the unbroken, a shatteredness out of which blooms the unshatterable. There is a sorrow beyond all grief that leads to joy and a fragility out of whose depths emerges strength. There is a hollow space too vast for words through which we pass with each loss, out…
Wake up. Day calls you to your life: your duty. Tear your body from the black night and the shadows that covered it, this body for which light waited on tiptoe at dawn. Stand up, affirm the straight, simple will to be perfect, unbent purity. Touch the temple of your body. Is it hot? Cold?…