Unspoken Word
October 03, 2019
Radiant Being of Light

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TimelessToday

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:39 PM | Comments (0)

September 07, 2019
Laugh Lines

The only lines
I want to wait on
are the ones
around your eyes.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:07 AM | Comments (0)

August 16, 2019
No Portal, No Gate

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There is a place between day and night, between now and later, between body and soul. There is no entry to this place, no portal, no gate. You cannot get there by going, only by already being there. It is, this place, a secret chamber of the heart, but only for those who can keep a secret. You have no proof it exists and never will. The more you look for it, the less you will see. The more you listen for it, the less you will hear. This mystery cannot be attained, only received. A bestowal it is, a gift, like the first few drops of dew in this morning's spider web.

Photo: unsplash-logomichael podger
MitchDitkoff.com

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:41 AM | Comments (0)

August 14, 2019
The Swing

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TimelessToday

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July 30, 2019
The Holiest of Prayers

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Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:45 PM | Comments (0)

July 19, 2019
The Poetry of Portraiture

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If you are looking for a wonderful, easy-to-work-with artist to paint your portrait or the portrait of a loved one, Unspoken Word recommends San Miguel de Allende resident Evelyne Pouget. Now available for commissions. Oil on canvas or oil pastels. For more information, contact: Mitch Ditkoff (mitch@ideachampions.com)

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:36 PM | Comments (0)

July 06, 2019
The Relationship

She wanted
more space,
I gave her
the universe.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:38 PM | Comments (0)

July 02, 2019
AN ODE TO SELF IMPROVEMENT

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If you are trying to improve yourself,
please take a moment
to consider the possibility
that the self you are trying to improve
either doesn't exist
or is totally self-invented
and what you are really trying to do
is improve your persona,
the wind-up doll of yourself that you have, somehow, conjured up
to make your way forward in the world,
an understandable past time, indeed,
but probably not the real purpose
of your life.
And, just to make matters even more interesting,
who is it that is trying
to improve your self?
Upon what ground
is that person standing
and why are they trying so hard?
Is there something wrong with you? Really?
And, if so, who is judging whom?
Maybe that's the self that needs improvement.
Just for the moment, consider the possibility
that it's not so much a matter of self-improvement.
Maybe it's more a matter of knowing your self,
Perhaps, once this so-called self is known,
there will be no more need for self-improvement.
Wouldn't that be interesting?
Imagine what you could do with all that extra time!
Think about what a big, beautiful space might open up for you --
kind of like one of those fields Rumi liked to wander in.
With all that newly found dimension in your life
maybe you could take up gardening or learn the piano.
Or what about volunteering at your local hospice
or maybe you could just make somebody a cup of tea.
Like yourself, for example.

- Mitch Ditkoff
2:02 pm, July 2, 2019

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:35 PM | Comments (1)

June 27, 2019
FOR LIA

Here is a wonderful poem recently written by my friend, Robert Esformes, in honor of his friend, Lia Lynn Rosen who has recently opened up a lovely pottery store and studio in Rosendale, NY. Pottery and poetry. They both begin with "P" and they're both good for the soul. Read it and leap. Then check out Lia's new store...

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Slippery clay on the wheel spins round center,
Not unlike how we turn and turn in our time.
The mud of history becomes a dervish dancing,
Tethered to this moment while praising
The Circumference that is everywhere.

The rains fall and reservoirs fill
While the earth sings chorales
for old bones decomposed, ready to take new shape.
Clay's thirst is slaked with a cup of poured water.
Mud meanders towards bowl, dust gathers from dust.

Unfinished vessels head for the furnace of fire;
Fire kindly offers its heat to make firm the form.
Earth, water, fire invite the air into a pas-de-quatre.
Air accepts and conjures a healing breeze,
Stirring up the stillness, refreshing the dance.

All is, in time, finished in its final form,
The cup ready for service to the eye, the tongue,
The nose, the echoing ear.

Ah, the spaciousness of this tea, and cup,
Dancing in our hands, satisfying in perfection
Of the alchemy of the elements!

You are in good company.
Sip responsively.

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LIA'S STORE: A Potter on Main Street
430 Main Street, Rosendale, NY
845.658.2163

Think Global, Buy Local

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:21 PM | Comments (0)

June 25, 2019
Meryl Streep, Yo-Yo Ma, Isadora Duncan, and the Creative Process

OK. If you are an artist, dancer, sculptor, writer, poet, photographer, musician or anyone else for whom creativity is paramount, this performance by Meryl Streep and Yo-Yo Ma is your sweet tasting medicine of the day. Or perhaps every day. Turn up the volume. Go full screen. Let's here it for Isabella Duncan, whose words are memorialized in this fantastic reading. Go for it! The door is open! No doubt!

A Poem Reading with Meryl Streep and Cello with Yo-Yo Ma from Center on US-China Relations on Vimeo.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 05:14 PM | Comments (0)

June 22, 2019
The One for Whom

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Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:48 PM | Comments (1)

June 18, 2019
You Are the Water

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Day Three of Amaroo video
TimelessToday

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:52 PM | Comments (0)

May 31, 2019
Date Night

She wants to go out,
I want to go in.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:47 PM | Comments (0)

May 23, 2019
How to Make a Poem

Akka's website

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:55 PM | Comments (0)

May 22, 2019
The Still Point of Creation

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The still point of creation is
like arriving, late at night,
at an empty railway station,
no trains coming, no trains going,
just a big sky overhead
and all the rivers flowing,
there's nothing left to do here
and there's nowhere left to go,
simply sitting on a wooden bench
with a cup of morning joe.
It's a place of no beginning,
no start, no stop, no end,
just the space between each breath you take,
your lover, mother, and your friend.
Or how about this?
Why birds sing when they are all alone.

MitchDitkoff.com

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:36 AM | Comments (0)

May 21, 2019
What We Really Want

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TimelessToday

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:08 PM | Comments (1)

April 24, 2019
Roses

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MitchDitkoff.com

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 04:06 PM | Comments (0)

April 19, 2019
There Is No Door

TimelessToday

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:15 PM | Comments (0)

March 30, 2019
Poetry Unread in 39 Years

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Last night, while cleaning out my home office in preparation for selling my house, I found an old notebook filled with bits of poetry -- words I had written 39 years ago during the time I lived in one of Prem Rawat's ashrams -- a time in my life where I had majorly unplugged from the world to "go within." Each verse of what follows stands alone. There is no particular order to them. It is not a single, coherent poem, but rather bits and pieces of a moon-howling jigsaw puzzle that was my life when I was 32. Please don't try to make sense of this stuff. Just feel it. Just let these blasts from the past wash over you. Maybe a single phrase or line will speak to you -- or even sing. In the end, methinks each and every one of us, no matter what form our life takes, is on a quest to find what's real. Part of that process, it seems, has something to do with getting in touch with our thirst for the divine -- that deep, inner, ancient longing for love that truly moves us.

I sit in the cave of myself,
alone with my breath.
There is no one else here
in this cool, dark hollow of my soul.

I sing your praises.
I hang the seeds of treeless forests
in the heaven of your Name.

Night falls around me
like the arms of a lover
widowed by daylight
and seeking the warmth of another.

The one who yearns for God must die
like flowers to the fruit,
must fall to the root
around the tree of life that gives me shade.

He walks on water,
I walk on ice,
and when I lay my head at his feet
I remember there is no place left in the world to go.
Here. Only here.

How deep can I look into
anyone else's eyes?
Only to the place where they are looking for you,
unafraid of what they'll find.

Words are only burrs on the path
through the high country brush with God.

Homeless,
with only a few stars to guide me,
I am a bum in a roadside temple,
cheater, whose deck of cards
has long since been stolen.

There are angels buried in my flesh.

I must be in love
or is it insane?

Who can receive me?
Who is deep enough
for me to disappear into?

He joins heaven and hell
with a wave of his hand,
his breath, the wand,
his smile the ground I walk upon.

Void of all tears,
sworn to silence,
I lose everything, once again, but myself.

Oh song-studded boy of bothersome beauty,
fall to the feet of the only one here,
bring what you've stolen,
peel your skin like grapes
and offer it as cloth
so he might wear what once was you
for a twilight ride through the country.

Suture the ragged wound closed,
let all your scars be roads to follow home.

Like a breeze through lace curtains,
enter softly
and stay with me a while.

I bend because
he has removed the weight.

I am melting,
I am burning at both ends,
and what I see by this flickering light,
is enough.

How can the desert flower thank the sun?
It cannot speak, only bend in the breeze of his passing.

Oh Master of my soul,
you have ignited the brittle tinder of my heart.

The closer I get to you,
the more I see how far away I am.

Who else listens to me when, speechless,
my heart begins to sing? Who?

I have gone to meet you in your secret place,
but when I arrived, neither of us were there.

Forget about ashes on your forehead,
let your whole body be consumed in flames.

Who can this Master be,
the one whose path is strewn with rose petals?

PremRawat.com
TimelessToday
MitchDitkoff.com

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:37 AM | Comments (0)

March 29, 2019
A Man of Many Colors

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Here's a beautiful piece of art by my good friend Peter Buettner, soulful musician, composer and artist. The world is a better place with Peter here.

And here's a review of one of Peter's Woodstock's concerts back in 2008.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:28 AM | Comments (0)

Want more? Read our Archives:
October 2019, September 2019, August 2019, July 2019, June 2019, May 2019, April 2019, March 2019, February 2019, January 2019, December 2018, November 2018, October 2018, September 2018, August 2018, July 2018, June 2018, May 2018, April 2018, March 2018, February 2018, January 2018, December 2017, November 2017, October 2017, September 2017, August 2017, July 2017, June 2017, May 2017, April 2017, March 2017, February 2017, January 2017, December 2016, October 2016, September 2016, August 2016, April 2016,
“I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry.”
— John Cage

Welcome to my new blog — brief ruminations on what it is that moves me (and maybe YOU, too). If any of my poems inspire you, please forward them to friends. Good muse travels fast. Or could, with your help.

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