Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Nice  poem for a Sunday reflection.

**********************************************

I want to give myself
utterly
as this maple
that burned and burned
for three days without stinting
and then in two more
dropped off every leaf;
as this lake that,
no matter what comes
to its green-blue depths,
both takes and returns it.
In the still heart,
that refuses nothing,
the world is twice-born–
two earths wheeling,
two heavens,
two egrets reaching
down into subtraction;
even the fish
for an instant doubled,
before it is gone.
I want the fish.
I want the losing it all
when it rains and I want
the returning transparence.
I want the place
by the edge-flowers where
the shallow sand is deceptive,
where whatever
steps in must plunge,
and I want that plunging.
I want the ones
who come in secret to drink
only in early darkness,
and I want the ones
who are swallowed.
I want the way
the water sees without eyes,
hears without ears,
shivers without will or fear
at the gentlest touch.
I want the way it
accepts the cold moonlight
and lets it pass,
the way it lets
all of it pass
without judgment or comment.
There is a lake,
Lalla Ded sand, no larger
than on seed of mustard,
that all things return to.
O heart, if you
will not, cannot, give me the lake
then give me the song.

kattalina:

” I romp with joy in the bookish dark
A happy nerd, a loving friend and
A devoted servant to literature
May all rejoice who know this joy! ”

YAY

Originally posted on Wuji Seshat:

71

I’ve loved many women
In my time, but not like this
Not like the love of words
The divinity in language

The riches in the poverty of poetry
Ink runs like liberty
From the fruit-craving mouth
Of this appetite, of poems

Like a librarian without a mate
I vowed long ago to marry literature
Here I am, alone and happy
I’ve loved many poets

Long dead and not famous
There is no bliss like art
There is no happiness like mine
I’ve eaten poetry for decades

In my attic, as a recluse
I am a new man because of her
She withstood my moods
And understood my aims

She did not chide me for my
Uneconomical strategy of living
Ink runs like milk from my face
I am a baby mad with wonder

In the open arms of books!
Who’s to say that this was not
My chosen aspect of…

View original 41 more words

Sometimes  these  moments come unexpectedly  into  your  life…as  if on  an  electrical current,  a wave  across  the   miles,  a  gesture   you can  glimpse and then feel.     ~kmk
***************************************************

Happy as something unimportant
and free as a thing unimportant.
As something no one prizes
and which does not prize itself.
As something mocked by all
and which mocks at their mockery.
As laughter without serious reason.
As a yell able to out yell itself.
Happy as no matter what,
as any no matter what.

Happy
as a dog’s tail.

t doesn’t interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand. I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.

— David Whyte
from Fire in the Earth

Thank You, My Fate

I  love  this  poem.  how   profound it is

*************************

Great humility fills me,
great purity fills me,
I make love with my dear
as if I made love dying
as if I made love praying,
tears pour
over my arms and his arms.
I don’t know whether this is joy
or sadness, I don’t understand
what I feel, I’m crying,
I’m crying, it’s humility
as if I were dead,
gratitude, I thank you, my fate,
I’m unworthy, how beautiful
my life.

For the raindrop, joy is in entering the river –
Unbearable pain becomes its own cure.

Travel far enough into sorrow, tears turn to sighing;
In this way we learn how water can die into air.

When, after heavy rain, the stormclouds disperse,
Is it not that they’ve wept themselves clear to the end?

If you want to know the miracle, how wind can polish
a mirror,
Look: the shining glass grows green in spring.

It’s the rose’s unfolding, Ghalib, that creates the desire to see-
In every color and circumstance, may the eyes be open for what comes.

Today: Billy Collins

Well, today is sunny   but not quite as warm as this  poem  speaks of…   However,  it is coming… sooner  or  later….

****************************************************

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary’s cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 70 other followers