Unspoken Word
June 30, 2020

Prem waving2.jpeg

People ask me
what it was like being with you
five days in a row.
Here's what I tell them:
It was like spinning around in a monsoon,
cup in hand, trying to catch the rain.
Every time I noticed my cup was full,
I opened my mouth to sing,
but my mouth filled up with water.
I gulped, I drank, I bailed my boat of joy.
Somehow, in between the tidal waves of love
and my odd little habit of trying to understand
what in the world was going on,
I heard what you said:
"Get wet! Get wet!"

Photo: Courtesy of TimelessToday

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 03:15 AM | Comments (0)

June 26, 2020


Today, I imagined everything I owned had reduced itself down to a singular plum tree -- the kind an 85-year old Japanese poet, sipping sake, likes to tend at the end of the day. This plum tree, this solitary plum tree, has suddenly become the still, ripe center of my life -- the axis around which all my desires dissolve, stunned as I am, ALIVE, purple fruit everywhere.


Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 04:17 PM | Comments (1)

June 02, 2020
Prometheseus Speaks


Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:13 PM | Comments (0)

May 18, 2020
They Are Still Laughing

14. .jpg


Used to Write Love Poems.jpg

After reading my own book.jpg

Words of Peace Global

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:50 PM | Comments (0)

May 10, 2020
Where Poetry Comes From

I do not write.jpg

A Man of Few Words
Choosing the Poetry of Life

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:51 AM | Comments (0)

May 02, 2020

A great story from Fiddler on the Roof

It's Steve Ornstein's birthday!

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 07:26 AM | Comments (1)

April 28, 2020


Full Moon at Sunrise
Photo: Sydney Rae, Unsplash

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 03:35 PM | Comments (0)

April 23, 2020
EVA SNYDER: Good About It

Wonderful song by upcoming singer/songwriter Eva Snyder.

Eva's YouTube channel

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:46 PM | Comments (0)

April 22, 2020
Give Everything You Have

5. Give2.jpg

The Poem I Will One Day Write.jpg />
Ira Leaves.jpg

Excerpted from this book

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:23 PM | Comments (0)

April 18, 2020


Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:47 AM | Comments (0)

April 16, 2020
Poetry Unread in 40 Years

Home in Breath2.jpg

A few months ago, while cleaning out my home office in preparation for selling my house, I found an old notebook filled with bits of poetry -- words I'd written 40 years ago during the time I lived in one of Prem Rawat's ashrams -- a time 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. Maybe a single phrase or line will speak to you -- or even sing. In the end, methinks each one of us is on a quest to discover what's real. Part of this process has something to do with getting in touch with our thirst for the divine -- that deep, inner 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.

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?

If you want to subscribe to his blog, feel free. Just enter your email address and click SUBMIT in the space provided in the sidebar.

Full Moon at Sunrise -- my book of poetry

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

April 14, 2020

This just in from my good buddy, Ted Chadwick

Today is a New Day
The eternal first day of Life
Yesterday is shadows. That door is closed.
What was real then is here now, reborn.
Tomorrow is a dream. Its time will come
when the river of life carries us there.
That door is out of reach.

The Power that gives birth to all things
lives in me, and I dwell in it.
In that light there is no darkness, no shadow,
no want, nothing to fear. All is revealed.
It nourishes me, heals me, lifts me up when I stumble.
It protects me and guides me.

My heart overflows. This is the One Truth.

So be it.

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

April 13, 2020


A clean sweep

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:36 PM | Comments (0)

April 11, 2020
The World Is a Milkweed Pod

Milkweed Pod.jpg


Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:52 PM | Comments (0)

April 06, 2020
Be Empty Like the Sky

3. be empty.jpg

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:56 PM | Comments (0)

April 01, 2020

Here's a beautiful, soulful, sung-for-these-times song by Rob Laurens, my "nephew-in-law" (the husband of my niece, Ali). Thank you, Rob, for continuing to write and sing your songs of love and possibility. It is so much needed during these crazy, Coronavirus days. Keep singing for Ali, Eila, and the rest of us! You have a gift.

PS: When Rob isn't writing and performing his songs, he is working from home, in Cambridge Massachusetts, coordinating global research studies for rare diseases. The limitations on international travel have really stressed the research world, these days, and for many of the patients in the studies Rob coordinates, getting to their clinical trial is truly a life-or-death matter.

Here's to perseverance, focus, and dedication!

Rob's YouTube Channel. Subscribe!

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:09 PM | Comments (0)

March 31, 2020


There is an aching deep within my heart
that cannot be explained.
It wakes me in the middle of the night
and write these lines --
a kind of fishing in a great sea I cannot find by day.
This escapade is not the search for something new,
it is not the need to find --
more it is the being moved,
my being pulled by an unseen moon,
how small birds, when days get cold,
make their way across dark skies
to the place where they were born,
how a feather falls to earth
and a child, finding it, looks up,
why dogs pace back and forth before a door
as their master turns for home.
Ah, this restlessness, this thirst, this ache,
this silent undertow inside
that takes me back to the hidden spring
where lions come to drink,
and snakes,
why birds sing when they are all alone
and the long ride home on an empty train
often feels like an arrival.

Painting: Evelyne Pouget

Excerpted from Full Moon at Sunrise
Oil pastel: Evelyne Pouget

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:53 PM | Comments (0)

March 23, 2020
The Width of the Universe

Blake Universe2.jpg

Astrophysicists, as of this precise moment in time,
believe the universe is 92 billion light years wide.
Please don't ask me how they know, I can't tell you,
especially since the half-life of scientific knowledge,
these days, is only five years,
meaning that 50% of what Earth's wisest think is true
will be proven false by the year 2023.
OK. So maybe the universe isn't 92 billion light years wide,
or maybe there isn't just one universe.
Maybe there are many,
what's been called, the multiverse, for lack of a better name,
kind of like this poem if I

leave a space between verses,

or maybe the whole concept of distance
is completely old school, like penmanship or Ritz crackers
and, in reality, absolutely nothing exists
except this moment
of you reading these words
and me writing them
or, perhaps, as my father used to say
"that and $2.50 will get you on the subway."

The point of it all?
Love is the name of the game.
Love and kindness and compassion and forgiveness
and gratitude and, of course, consciousness,
speaking of which,
the most advanced space craft ever reverse engineered
from another world,
had no moving parts,
no dials, no dashboard, no grommets, no chips,
no nothing.
It was powered by consciousness alone,
the mind waves of the beings who traveled inside it.
And this, my friends, is precisely why I love baseball so much.
The shortstop doesn't give a shit about how wide the universe is.
And the center fielder,
he of the big biceps and rugged good looks,
has just hit a 468 foot home run into the upper deck,
thousands of ecstatic fans high-fiving each other forever.
Now that's far.


My clients. Trippy, huh?

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 09:09 PM | Comments (0)

March 10, 2020
The Value of Nothing

didn't do2.jpg

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 04:27 AM | Comments (0)

March 09, 2020

Today I wrote the most beautiful poem in the world,
something so pure I wouldn't mind dying,
the perfect song of praise
hewn from the dark forest of my secret heart.
Not a wasted word it was,
rhythmic, elegant and holy,
poetry for the ages, why sages dance,
timeless in its pauses,
with a long white beard and a thousand Santa Clauses
ringing their bells for love.
Yes, I wrote this poem today
or rather, it wrote me,
flooding through my body
onto a singular white page,
which I, amazed at having said it all
and having signed my name,
left, for a moment, on my favorite chair
beneath the willow tree just outside my kitchen door,
then turned inside again and took my leave
to celebrate this unexpected visitation of my muse
by listening, with great respect,
to Mozart in the living room.
I did not hear the rain,
not a single drop.
It was only later, after dinner, I discovered
the many ways ink drips down a white page
in a sudden, summer shower.
I could see, I think, small patches of blue,
a cloud, a flower, a silhouette,
perhaps a word or two,
my perfect poem now watercolor --
the many colors of my love for you.

Full Moon at Sunrise

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:00 PM | Comments (0)

Want more? Read our Archives:
June 2020, May 2020, April 2020, March 2020, February 2020, January 2020, December 2019, November 2019, 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, 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.

About me.
Contact me.

My Books

© Mitch Ditkoff