So Beloved |
I Believe in Poetry&Light/Beauty from Ashes/A Love that Never Fails |
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Notes Mary Oliver’s “The Return”1.When I went back to the seait wasn’t waiting.Neither had it gone away.All its musics were safe and sound; the circling gullswere still a commonplace, the fluted shellsrolled on the shoremore beautiful than money –oh, yes, more beautiful than money!The thick-necked sealsstood in the salted waves with their soft, untroubled facesgazing shoreward –
oh bed of silk,lie back now on your prairies of blackness your fields of sunlightthat I may look at you.
I am happy to be home.
2.I do not want to be frisky, and theatrical.I do not want to go forward in the parade of names.I do not want to be diligent or necessary or in any wayheavy.From my mouth to God’s ear, I swear it; I want onlyto be a song.To wander around in the fields like a little reed bird.To be a song.
3.Two eggs rolled from the goose nestdown to the water and halfway into the water.What good is hoping?I went there softly, and gathered themand put them back into the nestof the goose who bit me hard with herlovely black beak with the pinktongue-tip quivering,and beat my arms with herlovely long wingsand beat my face with herlovely long wings,what good is trying?She hissed horribly, wanting me to be frightened.I wasn’t frightened.I just knew it was over,those cold white eggs would never hatch,the birds would forget, soon, and go back,to the light-soaked pond,what good is remembering?But I wasn’t frightened.4.Sometimes I really believe it, that I am going tosave my lifea little.5.When I found the seal pup alone on the far beach,not sleeping but looking all around, I didn’treason it out, for reason would have sent me away,I justwent close but not too close, and lay down on the sandwith my back toward it, andpretty soon it rolled over, and rolled overuntil the length of its body lay alongthe length of my body, and so we touched, and maybeour breathing together was some kind of heavenly conversationin God’s delicate and magnifying language, the onewe don’t dare speak out loud,not yet.6.Rumi the poet was a scholar also.But Shams, his friend, was an angel.By which I don’t mean anything patient and sweet,When I read how he took Rumi’s books and threw theminto the duck pond,I shouted for joy. Time to live now,Shams meant.I see him, turning awaycasually toward the road, Rumi following, the booksfloating and sinking among the screeching ducks,oh, beautiful book-eating pond!7.The country of the mockingbird is where I now want to be,thank you, yes.The days when the snow-white swans might pass over the dunesare the days I want to eat now, slowly and carefullyand with gratitude. Thank you.The hours fresh and tidal are the hours I want to holdin the palm of my hand, thank you, yes.Such grace, thank you!The gate I want to open now is the one that leads intothe flower-bed of my mind, thank you, yes.Every day the slow, fresh wind, thank you, yes.The wing, in the dark, that touches me.Thank you.Yes. -
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#grateful #wordcandy
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Saturday-Rainy-Day-Poetry
When it’s over, I want to say: all my lifeI was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonderif I have made of my life something particular, and real.I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.~M. Oliver, from her poem When Death Comes -
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Notes “The Secret”Two girls discover
the secret of life
in a sudden line of
poetry.
I who don’t know the
secret wrote
the line. They
told me
(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even
what line it was. No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the secret,
the line, the name of
the poem. I love them
for finding what
I can’t find,
and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it
so that
a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
lines
in other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,
for
assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
for that
most of all.~Denise Levertov - Link Poetry Pernassus
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Sunday Morning Poem
Nativity
In the dark, a child might ask, What is the world?
just to hear his sister
promise, An unfinished wing of heaven,
just to hear his brother say,
A house inside a house,
but most of all to hear his mother answer,
One more song, then you go to sleep.
How could anyone in that bed guess
the question finds its beginning
in the answer long growing
inside the one who asked, that restless boy,
the night’s darling?
Later, a man lying awake,
he might ask it again,
just to hear the silence
charge him, This night
arching over your sleepless wondering,
this night, the near ground
every reaching-out-to overreaches,
just to remind himself
out of what little earth and duration,
out of what immense good-bye,
each must make a safe place of his heart,
before so strange and wild a guest
as God approaches.~Li-Young Lee - Link A Poem from Susan Rich
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Notes From the Minds of Kids…We had a poetry experiment this morning! I began by calling out the word ‘canoe’ and let the kids take over from there…I wrote it down as they made it up. :)
Crazy Canoe
Blue canoe
lost its shoe.
Dog lost its paddle.
Hog danced on a log.
Sock blocked the clock;
Jake slept late.
Sun carried a ton of heat.
Moon played with spoons,
made a cannon and
a cat with a hat.
An owl finds its friends
swimming in a pool.
*This poem is brought to you by Sean, Christian, and Kailey*
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Notes Where the Sidewalk Endsby Shel SilversteinThere is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
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Playthis is my most favorite song in the whole world.
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Untitled by L.L. Barkat
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“The Moon Is a Comma, a Pause in the Sky” by Kelli Russell Agodon
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things I cannot even deal with: this
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pronunciation | sin-‘til-a
