“So what’s the deal with you and poetry?” you may ask. Well it’s simple. I love it, always have, always will and I know that there are many out there who long for an opportunity to be affected by a word, an image, or a theme in a way that leads to a deeper reflection of the human experience. In ABC of Reading, Pound, writes, ” Great literature is simply language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree.”
I share simply to offer an opportunity for others to feel the electrical charge…ENJOY!
November 23, 2020
Love Like Salt
By Lisel Mueller
It lies in our hands in crystals
Too intricate to decipher
It goes into the skillet
Without being given a second thought
It spills on the floor so fine
We step all over it
We carry a pinch behind each eyeball
It breaks out on our foreheads
We store it inside our bodies
In secret wineskins
At supper, we pass it around the table
Talking of holidays by the sea.
November 16, 2020
The Sky Gave me its Heart
Translated By Daniel Ladinsky
The sky gave me its heart
Because it knew mine was not large enough to care
For the earth the way
It did.
Why is it we think of God so much?
Why is there so much talkÂ
About love?
When an animal is wounded
No one has to tell it, “You need to heal;” so naturally it will nurse
Itself the best it can.
My eye kept telling me, “Something is missing from
All I see.” So it went in search of the cure.
The cure for me was His beauty, the remedy–
For me was to
love
November 9, 2020
The Magnolia’s Shadow
By Eugenio Montale
Is thinning now and its royal-blue buds
Have fallen. On and off a lone cicada
Chirps at the top. Clizia, the time
Of voices joined as one, of the boundless god
Devouring and replenishing his faithful,Â
Is over. To spend oneself was easier,
To die at the first rush of wings, the first
Encounter with the enemy, a game.Â
Now the harder way begins: but not
You, devoured by the sun and rooted
Yet gentle woodthrush soaring high above
The cold banks of your river–not you does
The shuddering cold bow low,
Fragile fugitive for whom
Zenith nadir cancer capricorn
Stayed indistinct because the war
Was in you and in him who loves
The Stigmata of your spouse upon you…
November 2, 2020
The Raven
By Edgar Allen Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
            Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
            Nameless here for evermore.
For the full version go to https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48860/the-raven
October 26, 2020
Starfish Poem
By Philip J Kocisko
One day an old man was walking down the beach just before dawn.Â
In the distance he saw a young man picking up stranded starfish
and throwing them back into the sea. As the old man approached the young man, he asked, “Why do you spend so much energy doing what seems to be a waste of time?”Â
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The young man explained that the stranded starfish would die if left in the morning sun. The old man exclaimed, “But there must be thousands of starfish. How can your efforts make any difference?” The young man looked down at the starfish in his hand and as he threw it to safety in the sea, he said,” It makes a difference to this one!”
At times in our lives, we are all the old man, the young man, or the starfish. Sometimes, as the old man, we don’t see the purpose to actions. Sometimes, as the young man, we persevere and make a difference. And sometimes, we are the starfish who just need a little help.
October 19, 2020
In Beauty May I Walk
Translated from the Navajo
In beauty may I walk;
All day long may I walk;
Through the returning seasons may I walk.
Beautifully will I possess again
Beautifully birds
Beautifully butterflies…
On the trail marked with pollen may I walk;
With grasshoppers about my feet may I walk;
With dew around my feet may I walk.
With beauty before me may I walk
With beauty behind me may I walk
With beauty above me may I walk
With beauty all around me,
may I walk.
In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, lively;
In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, living again…
It is finished in beauty.
It is finished in beauty.
October 12, 2020
The Widower in the Country
By Les Murray
I’ll get up soon, and leave my bed unmade.
I’ll go outside and split off kindling wood,
From the yellow-box log that lies beside the gate,
And the sun will be high, for I get up late now.
I’ll drive my axe in the log and come back in
With my armful of wood, and pause to look across
The Christmas paddocks aching in the heat,
The windless trees, the nettles in the yard…
And then I’ll go in, boil water and make tea.
This afternoon, I’ll stand out on the hill
And watch my house away below, and how
The roof reflects the sun and makes my eyes
Water and close on bright webbed visions smeared
On the dark of my thoughts to dance and fade away,
Then the sun will move on, and I will simply watch,
Or work, or sleep. And evening will draw in.
Coming on dark, I’ll go home, light the lamp
And eat my corned-beef supper, sitting there
At the head of the table. Then I’ll go to bed.
Last night I thought I dreamt – but when I woke
The screaming was only a possum skiing down
The iron roof on little moonlit claws.
October 5, 2020
Come to the Edge
By Christopher Logue
Come to the edge.
We might fall.
Come to the edge.
It’s too high!
COME TO THE EDGE!
And they came
And he pushed
And they flew.
September 28, 2020
Your Laughter
By Pablo Neruda
Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.
Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.
September 21, 2020
The Real Work
By Wendell Berry
It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.
September 14, 2020
When Someone Deeply Listens to You
By John Fox
When someone deeply listens to you
it is like holding out a dented cup
you’ve had since childhood
and watching it fill up with
cold, fresh water.
When it balances on top of the brim,
you are understood.
When it overflows and touches your skin,
You are loved.
When someone deeply listens to you,
the room where you stay
starts a new life
and the place where you wrote
your first poem
begins to glow in your mind’s eye.
It is as if gold has been discovered!
When someone deeply listens to you,
your bare feet are on the earth
and a beloved land that seemed distant
is now at home within you.
September 7, 2020
Lilacs in September
By Katha Pollitt