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
I Do not Want to step so quickly Over a beautiful line on God’s palm As I move through the earth’s Marketplace Today. I do not want to touch any object in this world Without my eyes testifying to the truth That everything is My Beloved. Something has happened To my understanding of…
Let go of what has passed. Let go of what may come. Let go of what is happening now. Don’t try to figure anything out. Don’t try to make anything happen. Relax, right now, and rest. by Tilopa (translated by Ken McLeod) These words from the 10th century Indian master Tilopa have clearly…
The stars fell through my window tonight AstonishedI got up They were everywhereCalling me Shiny bright and brilliantPeeping through the pinesPlaying peek-a-boo with the cloudsScattering diamonds everywhere Such Largesse How could I be so luckyTo be so loved by this good earth By Lauretta Santarossa I’m writing from Samye Ling this week where I’m…
Let’s remake the world with words.Not frivolously, norTo hide from what we fear,But with a purpose. Let’s,As Wordsworth said, remove“The dust of custom” so thingsShine again, each object arrayedIn its robe of original light. And then we’ll see the worldAs if for the first time.As once we gazed at the belovedWho was gazing at us.…
It may be that when we no longer know what to dowe have come to our real work, and that when we no longer know which way to gowe have come to our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings. by Wendell Berry…
These shriveled seeds we plant,corn kernel, dried bean,poke into loosened soil,cover over with measured fingertips These T-shirts we fold intoperfect white squares These tortillas we slice and fry to crisp stripsThis rich egg scrambled in a gray clay bowl This bed whose covers I straightensmoothing edges till blue quilt fits brown blanketand nothing hangs out…
Sometimes simplicity riseslike a blossom of firefrom the white silk of your own skin.You were there in the beginningyou heard the story, you heard the mercilessand tender words telling you where you had to go.Exile is never easy and the journeyitself leaves a bitter taste. But then,when you heard that voice, you had to go.You…
May you be blessed in the holy names of thoseWho, without you knowing it,Help to carry and lighten your pain. May you know serenityWhen you are calledTo enter the house of suffering. May a window of light always surprise you. May you be granted the wisdomTo avoid false resistance;When suffering knocks on the door of…
I want to be ever a childI want to feel an eternal friendshipfor the raindrops, the flowers,the insects, the snowflakes.I want to be keenly interested in everything,with mind and muscle ever alert, forgetting my troubles in the next moment.The stars and the sea, the ponds and the trees,the birds and the animals, are my comrades.Though…
The universe does notrevolve around you.The stars and planets spinningthrough the ballroom of spacedance with one anotherquite outside of your small life.You cannot hold gravityor seasons; even air and waterinevitably evade your grasp.Why not, then, let go? You could move through timelike a shark through water,neither restless or ceasing,absorbed in and absorbingthe native element.Why pretend…
I don’t take your wordsMerely as words.Far from it. I listenTo what makes you talk – Whatever that is – And me listen. by Shinkichi Takahashi.Translated from the Japanese by Lucien Stryk & Takahashi Ikemoto I’m not sure how come, but I’ve had an unusual amount of rich conversations and deep heart-meetings this week. They’ve left…
We think we get over things.We don’t get over things.Or say, we get over the measlesbut not a broken heart.We need to make that distinction.The things that become part of our experiencenever become less a part of our experience.How can I say it?The way to “get over” a life is to die.Short of that, you…
Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat.My shoulder is against yours. You will not find me in the stupas, not in Indian shrinerooms, nor in synagogues, nor in cathedrals:not in masses, nor kirtans, not in legs windingaround your own neck, nor in eating nothing but vegetables. When you really look for…
The same stream of life that runsthrough my veins night and day runsthrough the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joythrough the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass andbreaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers. It is the same life that is rocked…
If you hanker fora zenith of felicityon the bed of the Divinebegin by dusting offthe wings of wonderon your local pillowLift your ineffableout of the mundaneAim for airbornewith the eye of the heartas your sky pilotand soar to glory by James Broughton A radiant case for bringing beginners mind and fresh curiosity to life-as-you-find-it…
Starting here, what do you want to remember?How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?What scent of old wood hovers, what softenedsound from outside fills the air? Will you ever bring a better gift for the worldthan the breathing respect that you carrywherever you go right now? Are you waitingfor time to show you some better…
When death comeslike the hungry bear in autumn;when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;when death comeslike the measle-pox when death comeslike an iceberg between the shoulder blades, I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:what is it going to…
Don’t go outside your house to see the flowers.My friend, don’t bother with that excursion.Inside your body there are flowers.One flower has a thousand petals.That will do for a place to sit.Sitting there you will have a glimpse of beautyInside the body and out of it,Before gardens and after gardens. by Kabir I was immediately…
With what stillness at last you appear in the valley your first sunlight reaching down to touch the tips of a few high leaves that do not stir as though they had not noticed and did not know you at all then the voice of a dove calls from far away in itself to the…
On the day when The weight deadens On your shoulders And you stumble, May the clay dance To balance you. And when your eyes Freeze behind The grey window And the ghost of loss Gets in to you, May a flock of colours, Indigo, red, green, And azure blue, Come to awaken in you A…
I have been trying to read the script cut in these hills— a language carved in the shimmer of stubble and the solid lines of soil, spoken in the thud of apples falling and the rasp of corn stalks finally bare. The pheasants shout it with a rusty creak as they gather in the fallen…
A sly gift it is, that on the year’s shortest day, the sun stays longest in this house– extends the wand of its slow slant and distant squint farthest into the long depths of our wintry rooms–to touch with tremulous light, interior places it has not lit before. by Robyn Sarah As we are…
I am the black lace tree Fashioned to the shifting swathe of sky Lifting your eyes to beauty I am the steadfast girth Of the wide gnarled trunk Urging your body to lean I am the swooping blackbird Thrilled by the cool freeing air Calling your heart to joy I am the determined dog Nose…
I awoke this morning in the gold light turning this way and that thinking for a moment it was one day like any other. But the veil had gone from my darkened heart and I thought it must have been the quiet candlelight that filled my room, it must have been the first easy rhythm…
Stop whatever it is you’re doing.Come down from the attic.Grab a bucket or a basket and head for light.That’s where the best poems grow, and in the dappled dark. Go slow. Watch out for thorns and bears.When you find a good bush, bowto it, or take off your shoes. Pluck. This poem. That poem. Any…
(at St. Mary’s) may the tide that is entering even now the lip of our understanding carry you out beyond the face of fear may you kiss the wind then turn from it certain that it will love your back may you open your eyes to water water waving forever and may you in your…
the way even the late-blooming aster succumbs to the power of frost— this is not a new story. Still, on this morning, the hollowness of the season startles, filling the rooms of your house, filling the world with impossible light, improbable hope. And so, what else can you do but let yourself be broken and…
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for…
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice – – – though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. ‘Mend my life!’ each voice cried. But you didn’t stop. You knew what you…
Be thankful now for having arrived, for the sense of having drunk from a well, for remembering the long drought that preceded your arrival and the years walking in a desert landscape of surfaces looking for a spring hidden from you so long that even wanting to find it now had gone from your mind…