Sonnet on a Body of Light

For years I thought I could not write a sonnet. Yet since starting the Poetry Daily practice last September I have written a handful. The longer I keep at the poetry practice the more flexible I become with strict form and open poetry.  So after contemplating the fragment of a Hafiz poem and a Rumi quote, a sonnet emerged from my morning meditation this sunny Friday. 

Here are the “sparks”

The astonishing light of your being….- Hafiz of Persia


Your body is woven from the Light of Heaven. – Rumi

Some Queries on a Body of Light

Is it breath that gives us life? Or is it

an electric current running through veins

invisible to all pathologists?

Do the stars dance or reside in membranes?

Light has its own speed, both tricky and fleet.

It casts shadow – is mellow at moontime,

But at high summer noontime can beat,

boil, scald and fry. It will fall and then climb,

fickle as weather in April’s caprice.

So is this being inside mortal form

some call the soul the animating piece,

the fire in our blood, keeping us warm?

When a body’s broken, pained, old and warn

does light go back to source? Is that heaven?

Copyright 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.

Featured image is digital art by Neville Dsouza found on Pinterest.

No Hero

Once the call to adventure comes, Joseph Campbell writes that the next stage of the Hero’s Journey,it is not uncommon to refuse the call. Who am I to be a hero after all? Right?

No Hero

Who am I to be a hero?
After all
it was only a call...

Red pill? Blue pill?
No pill.
No. Thank you.

I want to go back to sleep...


This is too hard.
I didn't know.
I can't spell.
I am not
(fill in the blank space)
It hurts.
Other people say...
It's okay to say no
after you have said yes.

this is a differant risk.
It is not your body
or your mind.
It's your soul
that's been grabbed.

Love. Be loved.

The most courageous acts
face fear.
Fears - plural -

Sit them on your knee.
Speak to them kindly.

Do not go back to sleep!

As Rumi knew way back in the day.
For it is likely to be full
of the bad old dreams.

Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.

Featured image  
Photo by Gemma Evans on Unsplash

Guest House

house guest

It’s full dark at 8am. The rain is beating on the double glazing.The house is muffled and I pad about by the light on the Christmas twinklies. I have been awake for over an hour and a half and still I am facing that blank page. I am preoccupied with what needs to be done before our Christmas guests arrive and how to dovetail tasks with concert rehearsals, feeding us and minding the menagerie. I was having a moment of Yuletide Mrs. Demento. Then Rumi came to me like a one man cavalry.

2018 has been marked by a steady procession of house guests from vernal equinox until the British late August bank holiday, with a few weekenders thereafter.  One friend dryly remarked that she wondered if I had registered with AirBnB. Some years it has been quiet, but not this one.  To stave off over-identification as a landlady I looked up the Rumi opening line from “The Guest House” in the Coleman Barks translation. This being human is a guesthouse.

I am reminded that hospitality is one of the four reverences in the Celtic spiritual tradition. The sacredness of the natural world and the divine in it is one, as well as the creative life of ‘making’ – whatever your art or craft. The last is anamcara,  soul friendship, the relationship with another that unites the body and soul. St. Brigid is quoted as saying for a person not to have an anamcara is like having a body without a head.


Come and rest.
Drink and eat your fill.
The sheets are clean.
The dog and cat hair
is never added to the bill.

But you may pet. They like that.
(Except the little deaf dog.
being the one caveat.)
By and large they will purr,
and lounge, and then
disrupt the Scrabble board.

Or they may move you to take
a sedate walk
up to the local holy well.
Because we all hope
to cure our cares.

Amidst the bubbles of laughter
and the murmur of chat,
there is a still point
in the constant motion
that is this being in transit.

With an occassional pause
to stop and share,
to break your journey,
to have a place at this table.

Sit with your hosts cozily,
your casually shed footwear
toasting by the firelight
along with all else
that needs to thaw.

Copyright © 2018 BeeSmith